


What does recovery look like?

by Quicksilvermaid



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabble, Headcanon, Healing, M/M, Post War, Therapy, War Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 06:43:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15701943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quicksilvermaid/pseuds/Quicksilvermaid
Summary: Based on the prompt: It's six o'clock in the morning. You're not having vodka.





	What does recovery look like?

**Author's Note:**

> This is more of a drabble than a fic. I'm keeping a bunch of placeholder stories here to expand on later, so I don't lose them on tumblr.
> 
> Jump over and say hi and hound me to write more if you like haha: [@quicksilvermaid](http://quicksilvermaid.tumblr.com)

It's late when Harry sees him. Or maybe early. He can't tell anymore. The days all blur into each other in here. The walls are beige. The people are beige. He feels like his life is beige. But beige is better than darkness. And blood. And death and fear and hopelessness and loss. And every other bloody thing that's put him here.

He fought it at first, when they said he had to go to St Mungo's … that it was for his own good - he needed a break. He needed to recover. He'd done too much. 

He didn’t know what had triggered them to send him. Maybe the insomnia. Maybe the panic attacks he'd started having. Maybe the fact that he felt like he just couldn't talk to anyone about what it had been like. 

Clearly this version of the Chosen One was not the version the wizarding world needed right now, and so here he was, in St Mungo's. Still not sleeping. Still barely eating. Still flinching at loud noises.

He stands in the doorway of the now-unlocked healer's staffroom and just watches the person in the room who's hunting through the cupboards, discarding one bottle after another. He can't help but smile at the grunts of annoyance he can hear coming from across the room.

Then Harry hears a noise of satisfaction and Malfoy pulls out a bottle, almost full of a clear liquid. Harry glances at the label and sighs, stepping into the room. Malfoy spins as he hears the tread of Harry's step, his hands coming up defensively, but he relaxes as soon as he sees who it is.

'Join me, Potter,' he smirks, waggling the bottle and raising an eyebrow. Harry crosses the room to him, plucking it out of his hand.  
'It's six o'clock in the morning,' he says, rolling his eyes. 'You're not having vodka.'

Malfoy pouts, reaching for the bottle, 'C'mon, Potter, don't be a buzzkill. You know we have "group sharing" first thing today. You know if I go into that sober I'm going to have to Adava myself.'

Harry snorts, despite himself and puts the bottle back on the shelf, closing the cupboard and leaning against it, arms crossed.  
'Nope. You know what happened last time you talked me into drinking with you before a session.'

Malfoy frowned, stepping closer, voice wheedling, 'C'mon, Potter, it wasn't so bad … so we may have overshared a little. You never say anything during these things anyway. Consider it Granger and the Weasel getting some money back on their investment.'

Harry laughed, 'Overshared? We ended up shouting at each other in the middle of the session to try and prove which one of us had done the worst thing. I think we permanently scarred some of the other patients. And there was that one Healer that hasn't been back since.'

Malfoy waved his hand dismissively. 'You can't handle the heat you get out of the fire … or something. Anyway,' he lowered his voice, and stepped closer again. 'How else am I supposed to distract myself from the complete and utter boredom of this place.'

Harry looked into his silver eyes and then flicked his gaze down to Malfoy's mouth, gaze catching on the way the other man grazed his teeth lightly over his bottom lip. There had been that other time … that time they'd convinced him to try viewing some of his memories back through a pensive, to better understand and accept them.

Instead he'd ended up having nightmares for days, until one night he'd woken with a hand on his brow, smoothing lightly over his hair, and the soft sound of a melody sung in French. He'd looked up to meet silver eyes that contained much the same look as they did now. Soft and somehow … hopeful. 

Harry felt his heart beat faster as he closed the distance between them. 

As their lips touched, he thought this may be the most alive he'd felt since he'd last seen the green light flash.


End file.
